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^ 



THE LAND of 
MAKE-BELIEVE 

and other ^ 
CHRISTMAS 
^ ^ P O E M S 



BY 



WILBUR NESBIT 

author of 
"the gentleman ragman." 




tr 



NEW YORK AND LONDON 

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

M C M V 1 1 



^ t 



' riraRARY of COMGFtESS f 
\w« Cooles Received i 

OCT 24 «?0f 

^ CnnyneJif pntrv 



7 



COPY lj. 



J 



1 



•^ 






Copyright, 1907, by Harpkr & Brothers. 



Ali rights rese^'ved. 
Published October, 1907. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



"Merry Christmas" v 

The Land of Make-Believe 3 

The Lost Boy 8 

^The Christmas-tree Wood II 

/The Empty Stockings 13 

''Tlie March of the Toys 15 

'^The Skeptic Convinced 18 

^The Unseen Tragedy 21 

JThe Druggist's Daughter 23 

<The Day of the Child 25 

<The Twenty-sixt' 27 

<rhe Well-filled Sock 30 

/ " Late Christmas Afternoon " 32 

/Waiting , 35 

''The Blessed Night 38 

^The Echo of the Song 41 

•'The Man "Who " Shows How " 44 

,^ Christmas Found 48 

,^An Ethiopian Santa 50 

''The Santa Qaus Trust 52 

_^ Song of Christmas 54 

[iii] 



/ The Carpenter of Galilee 57 

The Christmas Song 60 

"The Night Before Christmas" 63 

^Isn't it so? 66 

The Christmas Hymn 68 

^The "Window of Toys 71 

^On the "Way 73 

/Poor Old Mister Green 76 

^Christmasing 79 

I. N. R. I. . . . 82 

^ Samantha Ann 84 

^he Longest Day ............ 87 

^His Christmas "Wish 90 

-'The "Wise Men 92 

^Not Coming 95 

^Thc Little Things 98 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frontispiece 

The Unseen Tragedy Facing p. 20 

An Ethiopian Santa ......... *' 50 

The "Window of Toys " 70 

Not Coming " 94 



" Merry Christmas 

Ho, God bless you — you who said 
**Merry Giristmas " when you sped 
Past me in the crowded street. 
Every syllable was sweet. 
Every word in every part 
Sent a tingle to my heart! 

Ho, God bless you — stranger man I 
Yo« who said it as you ran. 
Waiting not for my reply. 
But, a stranger, hastened by ; 
Ay, God bless you, through and through- 
Merry Christmas back to you! 



I 



THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE 



The Land of Make- Believe 



In the Land of Make-Believe there is a tree of living 
green. 

And the Giristmas fairies deck it till their jewels 
flash between 

AH the branches that are bending with good things 
for me and yotj ; — 

With the joyous gleam and glitter of o«r Christmas 
dreams come true ; 

And beside the blazing candles many a Qiristmas 
dream we weave, 

For we know it is a magic land — tfiis Land of Make- 
Believe I 



[3] 



i 



II 



Let tts let the little children have the fairies and 

the rest ; 
Let them keep the glad illusions of the years that 

are the best ; 
Let them know the joyous fancies of the mystic 

fairyland. 
And the wonderful enchantments only they can 

understand — 
For the years are coming to them when they^II p 

sigh, and softly grieve 
That they left the realm of childhood and the Land 

of Make-Believe« 



III 



In the Land of Make-Believe there is a stalk that 

meets the sky. 
And Jack goes up and down it — we have seen him, 

you and I ; 

[4] 



There's a winding path that leads tjs to the deep 

heart of the wood. 
And a-many times we've trod it with the quaint 

Red Riding Hood ; 
There's a frowning cliff sarmountcd by a castle 

grtim and grim, 
And old Bluebeard lurks within it — you know how 

we peered at him I 



IV 



In the Land of Make-Believe there is the palace of 

King Cole, 
Where we've entered with his fiddlers, carrying his 

pipe and bowl ; 
And we've waited with Aladdin while he rubbed his 

magic ring. 
And aroused the willing genii that came swift of 

foot and wing ; 



[5] 



And weVe seen the gallant Sindbad; and weVe held 

the dimpled hand 
Of the dainty little Alice as we've gone through 

Wonderland. 



In the Land of Make-Believe we used to ramble 

«p and down 
To the playing of the Piper in the streets of Hamelin 

Town; 
And we saw the fairy coachman make the horses 

rear and prance 
When we rode with Cinderella to the palace for the 

dance ; 
And of evenings, you remember that we saw some 

one go by. 
And we knew it was the Sandman, come to shtft 

each blinking eye I 



[6] 



VI 



AU the others — how wc loved them I How they 

«sed to come and play 
Till at last they sent a message that they'd come 

no more, one day. 
For they had to leave os lonely with oar broken 

dreams and toys 
While they stayed behind in childhood with the 

little girls and boys — 
Ho, the visions we might conjure and the fancies 

we might weave 
Had we never fotmd the highway from the Land of 

Make-Believe. 



The Lost Boy 

The-Boy-I-Used-to-Be would know 

How far it is to Christmas Day, 
And every night in dreams would go 

Swift-paced along the wondrous way; 
And he by day would count the weeks. 

The days — the very hours, indeed 1 — 
With eager eyes and flaming cheeks 

The lore of Christmas he would read. 



Ah, he knew all the jolly tales 

The folk about the Day would weave; 
With boyish faith, which never fails. 

He had the knowledge to believe. 
He knew the legends all were true. 

He scrawled queer letters to the Saint, 
He heard the fairy horns that blew 

Their marvel-music, far and faint. 
[8] 



He heard beyond the northern lights 

The pounding of the reindeer hoofs. 
And counted all the long, long nights 

Ere they should course above the roofs; 
And Christmas Eve he heard the song 

Of Santa Glaus, while rapt he lay; 
Heard Santa's laughter, clear and strong. 

When he drove merrily away. 

O, all of this, and more, was his; 

The magic of the Christmas time — 
But now what little magic is 

In thinking of that silver chime. 
In thinking of the things I knew 

So clearly in the long ago. 
And knew not that their being true 

Was quite the fairest thing to know! 

Of all the Christmas wishes made 
This is the deepest in the heart : 

That I might find the light that played 
Through all the long days set apart, 
[9] 



And might believe the legends quaint. 
The sleigh-tracks in the snow might see. 

And know the jolly olden Saint, 
As did The-Boy-I-Used-to-Bel 



The Christmas-tree Wood 

Ho, little fellow, if you will be good 
Some day you may go to the Christmas-Tree Wood, 
It lies to the north of the Country of Dreams, 
It glitters and tinkles and sparkles and gleams; 
For tinsel and trinkets grow thick on the trees 
Where wonderful toys are for him who will seize. 

You go by the way of the Road of Be-Good 
Whenever you go to the Christmas-Tree Wood, 
And when you draw near you will notice the walls 
That rise high about the fair City of Dolls, 
Whose entrance, unless you are wanted, is barred 
By Tin-Soldier regiments standing on guard. 

It's over in Candy Land, there where the shops 
Forever are turning out peppermint drops; 
Where fences are built of the red-and-white sticks 
And houses are fashioned of chocolate bricks, 
[ii] 



Where meadow and forest and sidewalk and street 
Are all of materials children can eat. 

You sail on a ship over Lemonade Lake 
And drink all the waves as they quiver and break. 
And then, when you land, you are under the trees 
Where Jumping Jacks jump in the sway of the 

breeze — 
But only the children most awfully good 
Can ever go into the Christmas-Tree Wood. 



The Empty Stockings 

The firelight flickers soft across the floor. 

And plays among the shadows here and there. 
As though it sought the lad who comes no more. 

To let it lay its gold wpon his hair. 
And she — she sits alone here in the glow 

And smoothes the empty stockings on her knee 
And sighs and smiles, and thinks of long ago. 

When jolly lights were dancing in the tree. 



The empty stockings! It is Christmas Eve, 

And distant songs come faintly from without. 
While blithest chimes take up the thread, and weave 

A singing-fabric blent with boyish shout; 
But she has none of all the outer joy, 

She has shut in herself with all her grief. 
With all her fond remembrance of her boy. 

The stockings and a withered holly wreath. 
[13] 



She minds the times his rosy little feet 

Have faltered as they came across the room; 
She minds his laugh — no carol was more sweet; 

The firelight creeps up to her from the gloom; 
The firelight seems to tire of all its play. 

And comes to rest about her while she broods^ 
Save that some dancing flashes fain would stray 

Into the whisper-haunted solitudes. 

And so the fire bums low, the coals turn red. 
And die into a lifeless, flaking gray — 

Then out upon the midnight air is sped 

The burst of sound saluting Christmas Day! 

Then she amid the chiming clamor hears 
His voice! What other accent could it be? 

A smile of peace gleams sunlike through her tears- 
She smoothes the empty stockings on her knee. 



The March of the Toys 

Ho, little girls ; and ho, little boys ! 
Have yott heard of the wonderful march of the 
toys? 

With a drummity-drtinimity-drummity-drtfni 
In glittering regiments hither they come. 
The btjgle has blown in the Christmas-Tree land — 
Has blown them a summons that they understand. 
And little tin soldiers, and jacks-in-the-box, 
And beaotifal dollies in beautiful frocks. 
And swaggering dandies, and queer little Japs, 
And jumping-jacks — O, theyVe the liveliest chaps ! 
Are marching this way to the magical thrum 

Of the drummity-drummity-drummity-drum. 

Ho, little boys; and ho, little girls! 

The dollies are dancing and shaking their curls 

To the drummity-drummity-drummity-drum. 
And the soldiers are gallant and gorgeous and grum, 
[15] 



And the prancingest horses and wooliest sheep, 
And the mooingest cows that the toy farmers 

keep. 
And the squealiest sheep, and wee elephants, too. 
And the camels all humpy and shiny and new 
Have set out in a regular circtjs parade 
To the queer little, clear little tune that is played 
On the drummity-drwmmity-drttmmity-drtim. 

Ho, little girls; and ho, little boys! 

The little toy-drummer sets up such a noise 

On his drummity-drummity-drummity-dfum. 
That you'd think that his little toy fingers were 

numb. 
And the little toy fifer, he blows on his fife 
Quite the merriest air you have heard in your 

life— 
And the little red wagons, and autos, and carts. 
And the wliirliest engines with silvery parts. 
And the bouncingest balls, and the snappiest whips 
Follow on to the call from the toy bugler's lips. 
And the drummity-drummity-drummity-drum. 
[i6] 



Ho, little boys; and ho, little girls! 

The regiment dances and prances and whirls 

To the drumniity-dr«nunity-drtjmniity-dr«m. 
From the gates of the wonderful toyland they come. 
And each of them will stop with a child that is good 
(Or at least has been always as good as he could); 
And to-night if yow listen and listen you may 
Hear the little toy bugler a-bugling away. 
And the little toy fifer a-fifing like mad. 
And the steps of the toys that are jolly and glad, 
As hither and hither and hither they come 

To the drummity-drumraity-drummity-drum. 



The Skeptic Convinced 

My pa, he say I owght to be 

Th* very bestes* kind o* boy. 
Or I won't have no Christmas-tree, 

An* mebbe not a single toy! 
'Cause Santa Claus he's watchin' ottt 

For boys 'at don't btthhave 'emselves — 
If they don't mind what they're about 

He leaves their presents on his shelves I 
N'en I say I don't think there was 
No sttch a man as Santa Claws! 



N'en pa, he say, **AII right, you'll see " — 
He'U take me down to where he's at. 

N'en he go' tell my ma, an' she 
Put on my coat an' gloves an' hat. 

An' pa he take me on th' car 

To some big store 'at's awful high. 
[i8] 



He takes me in, n*en, **Here we are!* 

He say, an* right by me — O my! 
All dressed in red *ith lots o* far 
Is Santa Claus. He is, yes, sir! 



An* Santa Clatis he shake my hand 

An* ast me what I like to get. 
My legs shake so I 'most can*t stand, 

An* I get cold, an* n*en I sweat. 
An* my hair seem like it won*t keep 

Laid down like my ma breshed it — No, 
It feel ist like yowr foot*s asleep — 

*Catise, somehow, I was frightened so. 
An* when I try if I can*t speak 
My voice ist is a little squeak! 



N*en Santa Qatjs, he say, **AII right,'* 
An* say he know 'at Til be good 

So's he can come around that night — 
I nod my head to say I would, 
[19] 



N*en pa he take me home again 
An* tell my ma, an* they ist laugh. 

An* make me cry a while, an* n*en 
I say I didn*t tell him half 

I want. But ma says: **Don*t you s*pose 

Old Santa Qaus he always knows?*' 




The Unseen Tragedy 



The Unseen Tragedy 

Somewhere there is a little boy whose eyes are ftill 

of woe 
Because his empty stockings now are swaying to 

and fro. 
His wan-faced mother takes him «p and holds him 

close and tries 
To coax the light of gladness once again into his 

eyes. 



Somewhere there is a little girl who wakens with 

dismay 
And sees no splendid dolly she had dreamed of 

yesterday. 
And bare the floor and bare the hearth, and deep 

the little sigh 
From the wee heart that wonders why good Santa 

passed her by. 

[21] 



Ah, no! The little children who grieve on Christmas 

Day 
Are not in httts and hovels a thousand miles away — 
They are so near they hear tis, o«r laughter and owr 

song. 
And all the joys we have to-day serve to make great 

the wrong. 



The Druggist ^s Daughter 

She is the dr«ggist*s daughter. 

And she is wondrous fair; 
She stands beneath the mistletoe 

A vision rapt and rare. 
The yoting men crowd about her. 

They elbow through the crush. 
And underneath the mistletoe 

They see her shyly blush. 



She is the druggist's daughter, 

A radiant belle is she, 
Unconscious of the mistletoe. 

It seems, as she can be. 
With modesty becoming. 

Her lovely head she dips. 
But there beneath the mistletoe 

The swains all find her lips. 
[23] 



She is the drtfggist's daughter. 

The Christmas guests have sped. 
She now takes down the mistletoe 

That hung above her head. 
**It worked," she softly whispers, 

**It worked; I knew it wowld — 
It's imitation mistletoe. 

But it is just as good!'* 



The Day of the Child 

The tree shines with the candle-glow. 

The trinkets glitter jewel- wise. 
And we would that our souls might know 

The joy told in the children's eyes. 
Such sheer delight as this of theirs — 

A wondrous happiness it is! 
And every word the message bears: 

This is the children's day — and His! 



Let us come, as the Wise Men came 

Those nineteen centuries agone. 
Led by the Star's eternal flame 

That bade them rise and hasten on. 
They brought rare frankincense and myrrh. 

They brought rich gems and graven gold. 
They knelt, adoring, near to Her, 

And all their marvellings they told. 
[25] 



Aye, as those Men of long ago, 

To-day we, too, may see the Star, 
May see its mystic heavenly glow 

Flash out o'er Childland fair and far; 
And from o«r hands now fall the gifts. 

And we know why the Wise Men smiled 
With gratefulness; and each heart lifts 

Its chant of worship of the Qiild. 



The Tiventy-sixt' 

I've washed my face an* combed my hafr> 
An* not forgot to say my prayer ; 
An* never jerked or slammed the door. 
Nor gone a slidin* on the floor. 
Becatise foar weeks ago I knew 
That Christmas Day would soon be dm — 
I*m waitin* for the twenty-sixt*! 

I've had a thousand chances where 
I might *a yanked somebody's chair; 
I*ve seen a thousand dandy ways 
Where I might do some things to raise 
The dickens, but I've had to wait 
Till Qiristmas is wiped off the slate — 
I'm waitin* for the twenty-sixt'! 

Three nights a week I've set an' read 
Until 'twas time to go to bed, 
[27] 



When I was tempted strong to go 
An* tease my sister an' her beau; 
Three nights a week her beau has smiled 
An' said I am a model child — 

I'm waitin' for the twenty-sixt'! 

I've been the best boy in the school. 
Learned everything an' broke no rule; 
The teacher tells the other boys 
To notice how I make no noise. 
An' how I get my answers right. 
An' how I always am polite — 

I'm waitin' for the twenty-sixt*! 

I've gone to Sunday-school each week 
An* told why Moses was so meek, 
An* who was Cain, an* all about 
The way Golia' got knocked out. 
The teacher Sunday told my ma 
I'm the best boy she ever saw — 

I'm waitin' for the twenty-sixt' I 

[2<S] 



An' yesterday a man went by 

Who wore a plug-hat two feet high; 

I had a snowball, an' I itched 

An' squirmed an' all my fingers twitched 

To sock it one, but I did not, 

A boy must sacrifice a lot — 

I'm waitin' for the twenty-sixt'I 

Of Christmas comes but once a year. 
But it's a long time gettin' here! 
It's hard to do just what you should; 
It's hard to keep on bein' good 
When wall-eyed Walter King comes by 
An' yells, 'Tight me! You dassen't try I' 
I'm waitin for the twenty-sixt'I 



The Well-filled Sock 

There is pleasure in the holly and the frosty mistle- 
toe. 

And an ecstasy in the Christmas-tree, with presents 
swinging low — 

The holly-berries blazing in the firelight*s dancing 
gleam 

That plays among the shadows like the fairies in a 
dream — 

But there's gladness, O, there's gladness that the 
others seem to mock. 

In the heaping, bulging aspect of a Well -filled 
Sock! 



We may sing of burning yule-logs, or the pudding 

made of plum. 
Or the maiden shy whose hose hangs by her little 

brother's drum; 

[30] 



"We may hear the chimes that echo far across the 

drifting snow. 
And in fancy ttim the pages of the Book of Long 

Ago; 
Bat the key that, to my notion, will the gates of 

joy unlock, 
Has the bumpy, lumpy outline of the "Well-filled 

Sock. 

Here's a health to you at Christmas I Here's a 

bumper to the brim! 
And we will drink while glasses clink, with hale and 

hearty vim: 
May your heart be filled with rapture, with a pleasure 

rich and rare; 
May heaps of joy without alloy be all you have to 

bear. 
And may, O, may this blessing complete your joyful 

stock — 
The goodness and the gladness of the Well-filled 

Sock! 

' [31] 



"Late Christmas Afternoon*' 

The glad, glad bells of morning, the laughter at the 

dawn ! — 
The lustre of the children's eyes is fair to look 

upon — 
But, O, the best of Christmas — the best day of them 

all— 
Is when the lazy firelight makes pictures on the wall. 
And I may sit in silence and give myself the boon 
Of going back to boyhood, late Christmas afternoon. 

Here I shall fall to musing of pictures in the grate — 
There, eager for my summons, the host of boy-days 

wait; 
And in and out a-marching 1*11 see them come and go 
With hands waved lugh in welcome — the boys I 

used to know; 
And there, if I am patient, ^twill be for me to sze 
As one sees in a mirror, the boy I used to be. 



Otit of the swaying shadows will rise the long ago — 

The sleigh-bells' tinkle-tinkle, the soft kiss of the 
snow. 

The white sea of the meadow, where pranking 
winds will lift 

The long sweep of the billows foamed tip in drift on 
drift, 

And crisp across the valley will come a bell-sweet 
tune 

To set me nodding, nodding, late Christmas after- 
noon. 

Late afternoon on Christmas! The twilight sooth- 
ing in. 

And me with these my visions of glad days that 
have been! 

For I shall dream and wander down wnforgotten 
ways, 

My eager arms enfolding all of my yesterdays. 

Without, the mellow echoes of blended chime and 
hymn; 

Within, the bygone voices in mtirmars far and dim. 
[33I 



O, mine the gift of fancy, and mine this magic 

cliair. 
And mine the dim procession of Christmases that 

were! 
I ask no richer token of love on Christmas Day 
Than this which comes unbidden, than this which 

will not stay — 
This wealth of recollections that vanishes oversoon. 
The dreamland of the shadows, late Christmas 

afternoon. 



Waiting 



In those old days — those fair old days — what fancies 

would we weave 
When we sat waiting for the Saint to come on 

Christmas Eve! 
The stockings, limp and shadow-like against the 

rtiddy glow. 
Agape in their expectancy, swung in a slanting row 
That matched the difference in height of all our 

wondering heads — 
We watched the fairy flames toss up their wealth 

of jewel-reds. 

The *' pit-pat ** of the velvet snow against the win- 
dow-pane ! 

Our fainting faith, our lurking fears that all ocr 
hopes were vain! 

[35] 



Oar whispered reassurances to bring some sort of cheer 

That long and long and long ago the good Saint 
came — last year! 

And then the ashes of the fire, and then the speech- 
less patise, 

And then soft-footed sleep claimed us who watched 
for Santa Qaus. 



II 



O still the child-heart throbs its songs and still the 

child-souI lives, 
Ahunger for the scanty crust the grown-up fancy 

gives ! 
We hush the knowledge that we have and struggle 

to believe 
The wonder-tales we know are true — the tales of 

Christmas Eve. 
We wait, and wistfully we watch the dancing flame 

and spark. 
And turn our faces from the heavy curtain of the 

dark. 

[36] 



We nod in time to childish rhyme, to songs we had 

forgot, 
We clutch the golden memories of days that now 

are not; 
And 0! the night is very long, the hour is grievous 

late. 
But still, with olden faith regained, we bide our time 

and wait. 
And from the door of youth our dream the barring 

curtain draws, 
And we — aye, we, as children all — still wait for 

Santa Claus! 



The Blessed Night 

(From an old legend) 

^hen comes the night that marks the time the 

Christ Child came to bless 
And comfort all the weary world, and soothe oor 

sore distress. 
Then in the manger, low and bare, and in the 

plainest stall. 
The light of grace fills all the place and shines 

above it all. 

The light of grace shines in the place till comes 

the gray of morn. 
For it 'was in a stable bare the gentle Christ Hoas bom. 

The lowly strticture beams with light, and angels 

sweetly sing, 
Por that a stable gave the world its good and 

gracious King; 

[38] 



For that the Lord Himself was there upon that 

joyous night 
When came the kings with precious things to show 

their great delight — 

When came the kings ivith carolUngSf and said : 

** The Lord is come/' 
Then in the glory of His face each one 'was 

stricken dumb. 

On this fair night a mystic glow illtimes the humble 

placet 
And saintly melodies resound where first was seen 

EKs face. 
The oxen bow upon their knees, as though each 

bending beast 
Would thusly show that it must know the time of 

sin had ceased — 

Would thusly shoiv thai in the glo^ of rare 

celestial flame 
Our Lord Himself upon a time unto His people came* 

6 [39] 



Btit on the morn of Christmas Day the manger and 

the stall 
Show natight that tells «s of the light that was on 

floor and wall, 
Nor tells of how the Wise Men came to worship and 

adore — 
All bleak and bare the stalls are there, with wisps 

upon the floor. 

Atl bleak and bare the stalls are there, yet ever 

and al'way 
The message that the Christ Child brought rings 

through the Christmas Day, 



The Echo of the Song 

The shepherds lay a-sleeping two thousand years 
ago 

When from the dome of heaven there flashed a 
wondrous glow. 

From high, and high, and higher than all the suns 
that are 

There dripped the radiant lustre of that one mystic 
star. 

And all the angels chorused, and chorused yet 
again : 

**0f joy we bring great tidings ; peace and good- 
will to men/* 



The gates of heaven opened from eastward to the 

west. 
The song came surging onward in voices of the 

blest; 

[41] 



The gates of heaven opened from westward to the 

east 
And all the world was music ere yet the song had 

ceased ; 
The singing stars went chiming beyond all mortal 

ken 
In harmony triumphant j ** Peace and good-will to 

men/* 

The waking shepherds listened? the lowing kine fell 

still; 
There was a hush of wonder in valley and on hill. 
While light and song came streaming from out of 

heaven's height, 
Where neither sun nor shadow are known, nor day 

or night — 
It was the song that rises above all things that be, 
It was the light that silvers the great eternal sea» 

Across the field of heaven the angels flung the song; 
And suns and stars uncounted sang as it sped 
along; 

[42] 



The shepherds lay and marvelled and dimly under- 
stood 

What was this chant of glory that pttlsed with 
naught but good; 

The song was done, and silence dropped round- 
about them then. 

But left the ceaseless echo: ''Peace and good-will 
to men." 

Ho, this the light triumphant, the light in children's 
eyes! 

Their laughter has the cadence of songs from para- 
dise; 

And you and I, we know it, and we both see and 
hear 

The star that lit the heavens, the song that chorused 
clear. 

And in our hearts this season is echoing again 

The song that woke the shepherds: ''Peace and 
good-will to men/* 



[43l 



The Man Who ''Shows How" 

G)nsic!er the man who showeth the way mechanical 

toys are worked; 
Who telleth with great exactness how the string 

should be tied and jerked; 
Who grabbeth the lop-eared elephant and bendeth 

the winding thing. 
Until he breaketh the trwnk and tail and btisteth 

the moving spring; 
Who taketh the engine and the train and starteth 

them on the track, 
And wrecketh the whole arrangement while he 

smileth in glee. Alack! 
My son, my son, consider the man, he flourisheth 

everywhere; 
He sqtieezeth the **ma-ma ** from the doll and 

twisteth the growling bear; 



[44] 



He worketh the mimic theatre, and voweth that he 

doth know 
The manner in which it shall be done — ^btit endeth 

the little show; 
He choketh the "'moo ** in the mtfley-cow, the 

**baa ** in the woolly sheep. 
He breaketh the eye of the jointed doll so that she 

may never sleep; 
He robbeth the lion of his roar, he crusheth the 

camel's httmp; 
He spraineth the jtimping-jack — he doth — he taketh 

from it the jttmp; 
He windeth the music-box too much and stoppeth 

its melody; 
He trieth to work the dancing-dofl and breaketh its 

nimble knee. 
All this he doth and a whole lot more, and weareth 

his knowing grin. 
And reckoneth naught of the grief aroused because 

of his deeds of sin. 



[45] 



For always he showeth the way to work the new 

mechanical toy 
Before the thing hath ever been touched by any 

delighted boy. 
He telleth the children great and small to stand to 

the side and wait 
The while he showeth the proper way to get it to 

operate; 
If infantile minds are filled with the thought that 

they know the way to wind 
The horse or the sheep or the lion or bear, he stop- 

peth them, smiling and kind; 
He maketh them wait; he maketh them weep; he 

maketh them clamor and wail; 
He cracketh the face of the phonograph-doII and 

spoileth the tiger's tail. 
And all because he knoweth it all — the sum of all 

knowledge is his — 
My son, my son, take heed of the man, observe 

what a nuisance he is. 



[46] 



Gjnsider his ways and be wise in thy days; 'twill 

add to the lot of thy joys. 
If thou shunnest the path of that coaxer of wrath — 

the man who mttst wind up the toys. 



Christmas Found 

**A nickel, please — a coin to hxsy me bread!** 

He begged of all the b«sy passers-by. 
They did not see his palsy-shaken head 

Nor mark the patient yearning of his eye. 
So bosy they — they did not hear his plea, 

His mumbled words to them as they drew near; 
** Please spare a little Christmas now for me — 

I used to have a Christmas every year/* 

So, buffeted about among the crowd 

He slowly made his way along the street — 
Stoop-shouldered; life had borne on him and bowed 

His head, and taken sureness from his feet. 
The happy folk, intent on other things. 

Went by, their minds too full for them to hear: 
**A nickel, please! You don*t know what it 
brings. 

I used to have a Christmas every year.** 
[48] 



He used to have a Christmas every year! 

His mind was filled with thoughts of olden times 
When there was light, and joy, and warmth, and 
cheer. 

And over all the throb of Christmas chimes. 
His trembling fingers curved as if to clasp 

The days that were so far and yet so near. 
The happy days that had escaped his grasp — 

**I used to have a Qiristmas every year." 

And so, remembering, he wandered on 

Tfirough streets and over roads that led him far, 

When, just before the coming of the dawn. 
There blazed adown his path a wondrous star. 

And Some One came and bent above him then — 

Upon his cheek there gleamed a frozen tear. 
But there was one less of the weary men 
Who used to have a Christmas every year. 



[49] 



An Ethiopian Santa 

'Mawnin% sistah Johnsing. Mawnin% brothafi 

Green. 
Hope de fines* Christmas yo* has evah seen. 
Hope yo' white folks treat yo' motighty well an* 

good — 
Gib yo* all a *membwnce, lak dey sholy should. 
Lawzy ! "What dat roas*in* ? I cain*t tindehstan* ? 
Santy Clatis dat fotch hit xsz a culltid man.'* 

*Um-m-mp«h ! Sistah Johnsing, sholy dat smell 

sweet I 
Seem to me yo* cookin* simply cain*t be beat. 
Bress mah so«I, hit posstjm ! Lawd, now, look 

at dat I 
Juice is des a-oozin* f«m he side so fat I 
Lan* o* grace ! De gravy moaght-nigh fill de 

pan. 
Golly I Guess dat Santy uz a cuUud man 1 
[50] 




An Ethiopian Santa 



**Tel\ YO*f sistah Johnsmg, I don't want no pie; 
Des gib me some possum. Um-m-m ! Den 

lemme die ! 
Leave de white man's takkey on de highes' roos* — 
Lemme cyahve dat posswm. Sistah, ttt'n me 

loose ! 
Bress de Lawd fo* possum — fines* in de Ian*; 
T*ank de Lawd dat Santy uz a cuUad man !** 



The Santa. Claus Trust 

We ain*t agoin* to have no Christmas-tree down 

where I live, 
'Cause pa he says *at Santy Claus ain't got no gifts 

to give; 
An* Christmas won't be like it was last year an' 

year before. 
An' mebbe wc won't never have no Christmases no 

more. 
Us kids won't get no candy, an' our faces won't be 

mussed 
With orange juice, for Santy Claus has gone an* 

joined a trust! 



My pa he ain't a-workin' now — just loafin' round 

the town; 
He hasn't got no work to do — the factory's shut 

down. 

I 52] 



An' ma p'tends her dresses ain't so old an' thin an* 

worn 
As what they are; an' all as kids is wearin' clo'es 

'at's torn. 
Btit worse'n all, we ain't agoin* to have no Qirist- 

mas — ^jast 
Because that mean old Santy Qaus has gone an' 

joined a trast! 

Last night I ast ma why it was — I thought good 

girls an' boys 
Could always have their Christmases, with lots o' 

fun an* toys; 
An' ma she tried to smile at me, but, honestly, she 

cried. 
An' pa he looked so worried-like that I felt bad 

inside. 
You bet when I get big I'm goin' to take a brick 

an' bust 
The feller who got Santy Claus to go an' join a 

trust! 

[53] 



A Song of Christmas 

Sing a song of Christmas, with the tingle in the air. 
And mistletoe and holly and the berries every- 
where ; 
Sing it in a cadence that will show its measures 

start 
In the happy lilting of the beating of yowr heart — 
Sing, and see a picture of the stockings in a row, 
Casting swaying shadows in the light of long ago. 

Ho, the song of Christmas! Of all carols *tis the 

best. 
For it springs in gladness from the music in your 

breast. 
Rises from the knowledge that the world is good to 

you. 
Gets its joyous measures from the good you mean 

to do — 

[54] 



Mellowest and tenderest of all the songs yoo know, 
Bwilt upon the golden gleams from oat the long 
ago. 



Sing a song of Qiristmas; sing the glory of the 

star 
Flinging down its wondrous beams upon the lands 

afar; 
Catch the echo of the chant the waking shepherds 

heard. 
When from out the sky there fell each unforgotten 

word — 
Yes, and sing the memory of all the olden glow 
From the embers in the grate this long and long 

ago. 



Ho, the song of Christmas! It is yours and it is 

mine; 
Out of heart-held memories we make it fair and 

fine, 
8 [55] 



And we breathe the lasting faith that all the world 
is good. 

When we time the hearts that beat again in brother- 
hood — 

Sing it softly, sing it in a cadence swift or slow. 

When your sighs and smiles are blent in thoughts 
of long ago. 



The Carpenter of Galilee 

"Is not this the carpenter, son of M^ry y 

— Mark, vi, 3. 

No dreamer He, who spoke of toil. 

Whose simple message to «s all 
Breathed with the savor of the soil 

And thrilled with its compelling call. 
No dreamer, for He knew the worth 

That in the finished task mtist be — 
This greatest workman of the earth. 

The Carpenter of Galilee. 

He knew the striving and the stress 

Of labor; He could understand 
The soal-depressing weariness 

That often comes to heart and hand; 
He knew how weary night and day 

Brought heavy longings for relief — 
He, too, had walked on Sorrow's way 

And He was well acquaint with Grief. 
[57] 



But He knew also of the strength 

That grows with striving — did this One — 
The confidence that comes at length 

In viewing all that is well done. 
The endlessness of Labor's quest 

Was His; and He said: "Come to Me 
All ye that labor, and find rest ** — 

This Carpenter of Galilee. 

Ah, learning that is not of schools. 

And knowledge that is gathered in 
From comradeship of bench and tools I 

He knew what battles were to win 
In daily toilings; and He knew 

The satisfaction and the pride 
Of doing best what one may do — 

And that is labor glorified. 

Perchance He looked from out the door 
With prescient eyes, and saw the lands 

Where all o«r toil should cease — and more. 
He saw the House Not Made with Hands- 
[58] 



The end of all His laboringSt 

The dwelling that He said shotild be; 
This Man of Great and Common Things, 

The Carpenter of Galilee* 



The Christmas Song 

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good- 
*a>iU to<wards men." — Luke, ii. 14, 

One night there came a carol from the sky — 

A song of songs, at which all hearts beat high; 

A melody of wondrows dttlcetness. 

Rich in the strains that comfort men, and bless? 

It swept its way in waves of harmony 

Until it tfirilled on every land and sea; 

It echoed where the shades of night were drawn, 

And surged against the portals of the dawn, 

And by the blessed witchery of time 

It has been blent into each Christmas chime — 

By field and hearth. 
O'er hill and glen. 

Rings: ''Peace on earth, 
Good- will to men!** 

Now when the bells awake on Christmas morn 
To sing the song that rang when Qirist was born, 

[60] 



From o«t their throbbing throats in tones of gold 
There peals the glory song — that song of old; 
The song that fell in rapture from the sky; 
The song whose lilting strains can never die; 
It holds no accent that a measure mars 
But echoes all the gladness of the stars» 
And soothingly it folds about the heart 
Of him who in his grief would stand apart. 
** Peace on the earth. 

Good-will to men ** — 
This song of worth 

Comes, glad, again. 



And when the mellow chimes again are heard 
It seems they bear each comfort-giving word 
That men desire, if they be Iiind or king. 
Or slave or sage; the chimes serenely bring 
The very speech their spirits most desire — 
The message of that joyful angel choir 
Which once bent graciously above the plain 
And made the world to wonder, with one strain. 
[6i] 



No music ever written, and no song 
So gracious as this one, that lives so long. 
** Praise him with mirth; 
Rejoice again. 
Peace — peace on earth. 
Good-will to men!'' 



The Night Before Christmas" 

***Tis the night before Christmas** — 

I whisper the rhyme 
And wander in fancy 

To ''once on a time/* 
I see the big fireplace. 

The girls and the boys. 
The long, heaped-tip stockings. 

The drums and the toys. 



***Tis the night before Giristmas** — 

So old and so new! 
With all of its dreamings 

So good and so true. 
I see all the faces 

Forgotten so long. 
And out of the twilight 

There murmurs a song. 
[63] 



**'Tis the night before Christmas"- 

And here, by my grate. 
The past riseSt glowing; 

The years lose their weight; 
The boy-days come trooping 

At memory*s call. 
And gleam in the embers 

That flicker and fall. 

***Tis the night before Christmas**- 

Ah, could I but clutch 
The gold of my fancies! 

*TwouId go at my touch 1 
The shouts and the laughter 

Now sweet to my ear 
Would shrink to a silence 

Too deep and too drear. 

***Tis the night before Christmas **- 

Remembrances stir 
As sweet as the cherished 

Frankincense and myrrh. 
[64I 



And, hark! As the visions 
Grow dim to the sight. 

There comes: "Merry Christmas I 
And, boy-days, good-night!" 



Isnt It So? 

Little boy, little girl, with the truth in yotir eyes, 

They have shattered the faith I had. 
They have broken the idols I used to prize — 

All the idols that made me glad. 
But yott, you must know if the tale be true 

That I heard in the long ago 
Of the jolly old Saint and the way that he flew 

With the presents — Now, isn*t it so? 

Little boy, little girl, with the trust in your eyes. 

They have taken my trust away. 
They have ended my dreams and have made me 
wise — 

But the fairies, they still must play; 
The fairies still come in the evening light 

And they dance in the sunset glow. 
And their music, it ends at the stroke of midnight. 

And they vanish — Now, isn*t it so? 
[66] 



Little boy, little girl, with the joy in yoar eyes. 

They have blotted my picture fair — 
And the castle of coals in the grate now lies 

In the ashes of cold despair. 
But yow, yo« can see where the fairy prince 

Goes to grapple the armored foe. 
And the sparks sputter up as the blows make him 
wince. 

And he yields him — ^Now, isn't it so? 

Little boy, little girl, with belief in your eyes I 

They have deafened my willing ears. 
But the jingles of bells from the north arise 

As they did in the other years. 
And the Saint of our Christmas with laughter and 
shout 

Is a-flying across the snow — 
O, the fancies I builded are scattered about. 

But he's coxning — Now, isn't it so? 



[67] 



The Christmas Hymn 

"And thou Bethlehem, in the land ofjttda., art not the 
least among the princes of Juda." — Mattheiv, ii. 6. 

**0, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee 
lie'*— 

The song brings back the silent peace of Christ- 
mases gone by; 

Brings back the olden mystery, and sets the heart 
a-thrill 

With fancies of the snow-draped firs that nodded 
on the hill, 

With memories of rwddy lights that night wo«Id 
find aglow 

Which from the cottage windows flung their ban- 
ners on the snow. 

** Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent 

stars go by" — 
The stars above the little town were very far and 

high; 

[68] 



They marched triumphantly from lands whereof a 

boy might dream 
To other lands that beckoned him with dawn's 

enchanting gleam; 
But under all the silent stars that marched from 

east to west. 
The little town — the little town — contented, was at 

rest. 



**Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting 

light*'— 
The mellow blaze of memory still leaps serenely 

bright. 
And through its wondrous necromancc the bare 

trees it illumes. 
All pink and white and radiant with snowy apple 

blooms 
Whose petals, when the winter winds the branches 

sway and lift, 
Float dreamily away, away, to pile in drift on 

drift. 

[69] 



/'The hopes and fears of all the years are met in 

thee to-night'* — 
Are met in every little town seen in the Christmas 

light. 
For none of tis bat muses now, when this old song 

is sung, 
Of all the blessings that were his when head and 

heart were young. 
And, miser-like, he counts his store of treasures, 

for of them 
He builds anew at Christmas time his ''town of 

Bethlehem." 




The Window of Toys 



The Windo'U) of Toys 

Ragged and grimy, with htingering eyes. 

They stand at the window of wonderful toys. 
And cotint all the marvels with whispering cries 

That tell of the longing for glittering joys. 
Their fingers are twitching to touch and to hold 

The baubles that show in the tempting display — 
And, knowing that even their wishes are bold. 

They have not the courage for turning away. 

And we, we look on with a chuckle and smile. 

Or laugh at their boasting of what they would do 
If one of the toys could be theirs for a while — 

The toys that are perfect and gorgeously new. 
We smile at their words and their gestures uncouth. 

Their longings for what is held far from their 
reach — 
But under it all is a lesson of truth 

That only the toys and the gamins could teach. 
[ 71 ] 



This life is a window through which we may see 

The toys that we know would complete our 
delight — 
The toys to bring gladness to yoti and to me 

Are ever and always set fair in o«r sight. 
B«t we are held back by some mystical force 

That bars us from reaching our fingers to touch 
The trinkets that would be the fairy-like source 

Of all of the glow that would gladden us much. 

And we stand and hunger for what is withheld. 

For fame and for fortune, for pleasure and pride; 
By barriers invisible are we repelled. 

Through power unknown our vain hopes are 
denied. 
We children — we children — ay, each of us peers 

At the prizes he thinks would be chief of tiis joys — 
We children we stand through the drift of the years 

At the window of toys — at the window of toys! 



[72] 



On the Wdy 

I can hear him singing, faintly, 

As he urges on his deer. 
And his song is mellowed quaintly 

As the measures strike the ear. 
But the lilt of it is jolly. 

And the words of it are gay: 
'Get the mistletoe and holly; 

I have started on the way. 



'Little fellow, little fellow, with the doubting in 

your eyes, 
I have started on my journey, 'neath the mystic 

northern skies. 
And I see you building fancies in the flicker of the 

grate — 
Little fellow, little fellow, while you wonder and 
you wait." 

[73] 



I can hear the hoof-beats thudding. 

As the snow is flwng behind. 
While the laden sleigh is scudding 

"With the swiftness of the wind; 
And the echoes now are flinging 

Broken murmurs of the song 
That old Santa Qaus is singing 

While the reindeer speed along: 

"Little fellow, little fellow, for the faith that still 

you hold, 
I am speeding down the windings of the trail I've 

known of old — 
And I know the deepest wishes in the golden 

heart of you. 
And the dreams you have and cherish are the 

dreams that must come true/* 

Ho, the gleaming holly berry. 
And the branches of the tree. 

And the measures mad and merry 
Of the song for you and me I 

[74] 



Far and faint, but waxing clearer. 
Comes the whirring of the whip. 

While the good old Saint draws nearer 
With this ballad on his lip : 

'Little fellow, little fellow, while you sit and dream 

of me. 
And the marvel of the morning that shall show 

the wondrous tree. 
For your trust in all the fancies of the shadow 

and the gleam, 
I am starting on my journey down the Iiighway 

of your dream/* 



Poor Old Mister Green 

Old Mister Green — w'y, he*s so old 
His hands ist shake like he is cold, 
('Cause he*s got palsy, my ma say. 
When I ast why they shake *at way). 
Old Mister Green — I ast him is 
There any little boys o* his 
*At*s lookin* out for Santa Qatis, 
An' he say: **No, but oncet there was.* 



An* he *ain*t got no folks at all — 
No little boys to scratch th' wall. 
Nor little girls *at wants a doll. 
Nor any pa or ma to tell 
How Santa don't like very well 
To hear us cliildren stamp an* yell. 
Nor cousins, nor ist folks he knows 
Like we know Millers, I suppose. 
[76] 



Old Mister Green — when he come here, 

Wy» was one day he shot a deer 

Right where oar hotise is! An* some bears! 

An' he saw Indians everVheres! 

I ast him was it lonesome nen. 

When he an* ist some other men 

Is all they is. He say somehow 

It*s not as lonesome as right now. 



An* nen^ *ere*s somepin in his eye 

*At look ist like he want to cry. 

I say: **1 wisht *at, Christmas, you 

Could play like I'm a go* to do.'* 

An* he ist pat my head; nen he 

Say: *'No more Qiristmas times for me — 

I'm all alone, you understand; 

Th' rest is in th* Christmas Land.** 



An* nen he go on down th* street 
A-walkin* slow, ist like his feet 

[77] 



Is tired; an* nen I heard him moan: 
**It*s Qiristmas — an* I'm all alone/' 
I ast my ma what does he mean. 
An' she say: ''Poor old Mister Green!* 



Christmasing 



Tho* I goe thfoaghotxte ye Marte 

"Where an thottsande thynges be shown- 
Marvel workes of wondrous Art, 

Fit for Qoeenlie handes alone — 
Still I seeke some comelie gift. 

Some fayre fancie I pursue; 
Down ye streame of song I drift — 

For I goe a-Christmasing, 
A-Christmasing for you* 



"Wolde I had ye Rose in bloome 
That from all its treasured scent, 

I might steale ye best perfume 
To enhance thys sentimente; 
[79] 



Wolde I had ye Stinsette*s Glowe 
That I might select ye h«e, 

Whych wolde make ye gayest showe- 
For I goe a-Qiristmasing, 
A-Christmasing for yo«. 



Wolde I had ye brightest Star 

Of ye garlande in ye skyes! 
(Yet, in soothe, more pleasing far 

Are ye flashes of yo«r eyes.) 
Still, had I ye star of dawne 

As a jewel it might do, 
Your fayre hand to gleame upon— 

For I goe a-Christmasing, 
A-Qiristmasing for you. 



Natheless, neither Rose nor Star 
Nor ye Sunsette Glowe is mine — 

So I roame where frettynges are. 
Where I needs must stand in line. 
[8ol 



Books, and muffes, and clockes, and fans. 
And strange fancies olde and newe. 

Tempt me, and ttppesette my plans — 
For I goe a-Christmasing, 
A-Christmasing for yoti. 

Do I find ye verie thyng? 

Then I know it is amiss. 
For my minde is whyspering: 

**Some one else will give her thys/* 
Zounds I Hey for ye olden time 

When a drift of song wolde do! 
Then I neede btft send thys rhyme — 

For I goe a-Christmasing, 
A-Christmasing for you. 



L N, R L 

"And laid him in a. manger." — St. Luke, ii. 7. 

"And he, bearing his cross, •went forth. " — St. John, xix. 17 » 



Mary, Mary, yotir song was sweet. 
Soft and sweet, and crooning low; 

True and tender its measures beat 
Otit into the morning glow 

When the promise was made complete 
On that Christmas long ago. 

Shepherds watching their flocks, they heard 
Angel choruses, word on word. 
And their souls were with wonder stirred — 
Mary, Maiy, your song <u)as siveet 

Gently, gently, you hummed the song 
In the stable poor and bare — 

Still it echoes, and echoes long, 
In a mother-song all fair, 

[82] 



In a melody trtie and strong 
That all htjmble folk may share. 

Wise men, bearded, and gray, and gatint, 
Rode through stmbeams that fell aslant. 
Giving voice to a glory chant — 
Mary, Mary, your song <was siueei. 

Stripes and jeers, and the heavy tree — 
These were his, and words of scorn, 

Sorrow deeper than grief might be. 
Bruising goad, and piercing thorn — 

Still there echoed the melody 
"Wliich you crooned that Christmas mom. 

One has brought him a winding-sheet. 
One has spices for head and feet ; 
Now the price has been paid complete — 
Mary, Mary, your song ivas s<weei. 



[83] 



Samantha Ann 

My sawdtist heart is broken, and my china eyes are 

sad — 
This night has been the darkest that I ever, ever 

had; 
The little girl who owns me used to tock me in my 

bed 
And whisper that she loved me, while she covered 

ap my head 
And told me to be carefal not to kick the covers 

off. 
For fear I might be cro«py, or should catch the 

whooping-cowgh. 



But yesterday a stranger came and took my cher- 
ished place — 

A waxen, flax-haired stranger, with a bright, «n- 
battered face, 

[84] 



The little girl who owns me let me drop upon the floor. 
And hugged the stylish stranger, and has thought 

of me no more; 
And all last night, neglected, I have slept beside the 

wall. 
Unhappy and untidy, poor Samantha Ann — a doll. 

One year ago my fortune seemed to be serenely 

bright — 
The little girl would hold me in her arms from 

morn till night; 
She made me share her play with her, she tried to 

make me eat. 
She showed me to all callers — and they vowed that 

I was sweet; 
I had four sets of dresses, and a parasol, and fan. 
And she would say that I was her beloved Samantha 

Ann. 

Alas ! My dress is tattered — I've no other to put on; 
Half of my hair is missing, and my poor left arm is 
gone; 

[85I 



And now the silk-clad beauty that was smiling from 
the tree 

Has claimed all the attention which was once be- 
stowed on me. 

My sawdust heart is broken — I have slept against 
the wall 

Where she, with shouts of welcome for the other, 
let me fall! 



The Longest Day 

Last day o* school is pretty long, an* so*s th* day 
before 

Joly the fourth — an* I could name a half a dozen 
more. 

Like day before th* circus comes, an* day before 
the day 

When we*re to have a picnic, but th* longest one, 
I say. 

Is when us children*s waitin* till our folks will give 
us leave 

To hang up all our stockin*s on th* tree on Christ- 
mas eve. 



It*s hours an* hours from breakfast till we get a 

lunch at noon. 
An* ma she says *at Santa he won*t come a day too 

soon, 

[ 87 ] 



So we*d as well be patientt an* not disobey nor 

fight. 
For fear *at Santa*!! know it when lie comes around 

at night; 
Th* afternoon's the !ongest — it jost won*t get dark, 

or late. 
An* by-an*-by we wonder, an* we wait, an* wait, an* 

wait! 



Btit fina!Iy it*s evening, an* we wait an* try to 

hear 
Th* jingle of Iiis sleighbe!!s — an* th* shadows !ook 

so qtieer 
When we sit by th* firepface, an* th* ffickers rise 

an* fa!! 
Like ghosts *at goes a-dancin* on th* ceilin* an* th* 

wa!!; 
But we wait for old Santa — an* th* coa!s get wliite 

an* red. 
An* everything seems creepy, btit we just won*t go 

to bed. 

[88] 



An* pa he tells as stories, an* ma she sings tis songs. 
An* we look at th* ashes, an* th* shovel, an' th* 

tongs. 
Till after while o«r eyelids are as heavy as can be. 
An* keep a-droppin* shut until it*s awful hard to 

see. 
An* then — it*s Christmas momin*! An* old Santa*s 

come and gone — 
But still it seems like that long day is still agoin* 

on! 



His Christmas Wish 

For Christmas? Yo« ask me what wotild I receive 

That should make all my life seem complete? 
I wait not for fancy to conjure and weave 

The impossible gifts I would greet 
With welcoming smiles if they came to my hands — 

But rn tell you the gift I bespeak: 
No jewel brought forth from some far-away lands. 

But a wet little kiss on my cheek. 

Ofttimes I recall it — the laugh in the dawn. 

And the marvelling gaze at the tree. 
Then the two little arms of the child who is gone. 

As she clambered atop of my knee. 
And clasped me, and held me, and whispered the word 

Of the gift that she gave, which was "This " — 
And I feigned my surprise, but my eyes were 
a-blurred. 

When my cheek felt the wet little kiss. 
[90] 



Ay, that was a treasure! No bawble of gold. 

No rare jewel, nor trinket of worth 
Could thrill me with joy to a measure untold — 

There is nothing you'll find on the earth 
Would bring me the joy that was mine in the days 

When she lived. And the gift that I crave 
Is her smile as she looked at the tree in amaze. 

And the wet little kiss that she gave. 

For Christmas? For Christmas, I want to sit here 

When the dawn sends its first silver gleams. 
And to think of the light and the laughter last year 

And to picture her face in my dreams; 
Till out from the silence that holds us apart. 

Shall be given the boon that I seek: 
The warmth of her arms, and the thrill of my hearty 

And her wet little kiss on my cheek. 



The Wise Men 

Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar — 
Three wise men, came from afar. 
Led by that most wondrous star 

Which swung over Bethlehem, 
Melchior in his hands brought gold, 
Caspar, spices rare and old, 
Balthasar brought myrrh — 'tis told. 

In the legends wrought of them. 



Ay, three wise men from the East; 
Each urged on Iiis plodding beast; 
Gazing at the sky cloud-fleeced; 

Crossed the desert bleak and wild; 
In strange, costly garments clad. 
Chanting songs serene and glad. 
For that in his arms he had 

Gifts to heap before a child. 
[92] 



They came through the city wall. 
Minding not the watchman's call; 
They but knew that they must fall 
Worsliipping, upon their knees. 
When they in their journey came. 
Where the down-flung starry flame 
Showed them Him they could not name- 
Wisest of all wise men, these. 

Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar — 
Three wise men from lands afar — 
Saw and knew the mystic star 

Blazing over Bethlehem; 
Out upon the pathless sands 
They fared from their distant lands 
With rare gifts held in their hands. 

Spices, gold, and kingly gems. 

So to-day we that are wise 
See the new star in the skies 
Echoed in the children's eyes 

As unsullied souls that shine — 

[93] 



We bring gifts, for thas we show 
That in our wise hearts we know. 
As two thousand years ago. 

Childhood is a thing divine. 




Not Coming 



Not Coming 

They can't come home for Christmas — and mother 

sighs and stands 
And looks out of the window, their letters in her 

hands, 
And tries to hide her feelin's, and I — well, here I've 

set, 
A-Iookin' at the paper, an* haven't read it yet. 
The headlines and the items is jwmbled every way — 
**They can't come home for Christmas," is all they 

seem to say. 

I know what mother's thinkin'; she's lookin' down 

the lane. 
And mindin' how she'd counted to go to meet the 

train — 
I'd polished tip the sleighbells until they looked 

like gold. 
And seemed as full of jingles as any bells could hold, 
'3 [ 95 ] 



And we'd *a* gone in early, and they'd 'a* tumbled 

down. 
And latighed an' waved their "hellos" to all they 

knew in town. 



The sky is gray and gloomy; the house is dark and 

still; 
The cedar-trees are lonesome where they stand on 

the hill— 
And we'd picked out the best one, the one we knew 

would be 
The very finest cedar to make a Christmas-tree. 
The clock here on the mantel is tickin' sad and 

slow; 
**They can't come home for Christmas, they're not 

a-comin'. No I" 



And mother at the window looks out and down the 

lane. 
And I stare at my paper — but stare at it in vain, 

[96] 



For all the type is tangled and all the letters blurred 
In one ttnendin* sentence, repeatin' word an* word — 
The only news the world holds to-day for her and 

me: 
**They can*t come home for Christmas/* is all that 
I can see. 



The Little Things 

I sec them all about me, the little things undone — 
The wagon that I promised to **fix so it would 

run/' 
The doU, the drum, the trumpet, are scattered here 

and there; 
I promised I would take them when I'd the time 

to spare. 

And he — he was so patient; more so than I could 

be. 
Nor minded when I tumbled the trinkets from my 

knee. 
But went out softly singing, as do blithe little boys. 
To wondrous make-believing with all his broken 

toys. 

I call him in a whisper that trembles to a sigh ; 
I call him in a whisper — but wait for no reply; 

[98] 



And then as at an altar before the toys I bow, 
And totich with fwmbling fingers — I'm not too 
busy now ! 

Ah, now my hands are idle ; my heart is idle, too — 
It does not thrill in cadence with all the laughs I 

knew. 
I cotint the broken treasures he asked me to make 

whole. 
And count the niggard minutes I gave him as his 

dole* 

Bttt I shall leave them broken, these toys that still 

are his. 
And he must hear my whisper in what fair place 

he is: 
**I<wonder if in hea<ven they ivitt not let me do 
The little things — the little things I did not do for 

your' 

THE END 



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